My Friend, Goodbye
by Riha Hyesthae
Summary: Co-written with the marvelous EchoThruTheWoods and featuring her Vincent/Veld pairing. Everyone expected Vincent to be the last of their circle to die. Everyone was wrong.
1. Goodbye

Growing old was not for wimps. No one would believe it to look at him, but Vincent Valentine was pushing eighty. Well, okay, seventy-five. Although he no longer looked twenty-something, his face still had a peculiar ageless quality that made it difficult to put an exact number of years to him. For a long time he had felt like twenty-some, but inwardly, age had finally caught up to him.

His left arm had been reduced to a frozen claw years ago. The hand was completely useless even with the mechanized glove he wore to augment damage he didn't even remember sustaining. He still had limited movement in the arm itself, but not much. Every time he moved he swore he could hear his joints grinding like the gears of an ancient machine. Chaos had kept him alive all these years, but the near-toxic amounts of mako Hojo had given him had kept him young. There had been so much in his system that parts of his body had turned to materia, crystallizing inside him. It wasn't painful or even dangerous, just annoying.

If he were honest, he hadn't been living in his body for years. When Cloud and the others had freed him from the coffin in Nibelheim, they'd resurrected a corpse. Although he could walk and talk and breathe, it wasn't the same. It was as if he'd been haunting himself, possessing flesh that he no longer inhabited fully. Yuffie had speculated on whether or not he might be a vampire, but a zombie would be closer: one of the walking dead stumbling ever forward because there was nowhere else to go.

Vincent didn't mind stumbling along since he had Veld beside him. They'd been together in some capacity for most of their lives: best friends, roommates, partners, and now lovers. Even with the thirty year gap where Veld had thought him dead, it was as if they'd always been two halves of a whole. Veld, despite being of an age with Vincent, was in significantly better shape. Aside from a hacking, rattling smoker's cough that made Vincent cringe every time he heard it, Veld was in stupidly good health for a man in his seventies.

It was reassuring in a way, to know that Veld was healthy and that he was declining himself. For a long time Vincent had been terrified of outliving everyone he cared about a second time. With the diagnosis of internal materia had come some additional news: Vincent was not immortal. There would come a day when his regenerative powers would not be able to keep pace with the damage. It might take a while, but he would grow old and die the same as everyone else. There was even a slim possibility that Veld would outlive him. Perhaps it was selfish, but while Vincent did not want to leave him alone, he wanted to be left by himself even less.

What Vincent had not expected was the exhaustion. Everything left him tired, left him sore. Even little things were becoming a major undertaking, though he would never admit it to Veld. Vincent could not abide being fussed over, and Veld would want to fuss. It was hard to politely turn down the offers of the few food items he could safely eat, to pretend to be asleep when Veld got affectionate because he really, truly did have a headache. He'd never realized that was actually something that happened until now. Not that they'd got up to anything in quite a while. Vincent preferred to be left in peace when he didn't feel well, and while he appreciated Veld's warmth and attention, there were times when it was too much.

In the back of his mind, at the bottom of his heart, Vincent knew he was slowing down. However, none of the voices in his head seemed to be aware of this. They were still just as loud, though they rarely elbowed their way to the front these days. He had hoped they might become quieter over the years, but it was himself who was growing more silent. He was running down, wearing out, but who wasn't at this age? Before the WRO, Midgar life-expectancy had been somewhere between forty and fifty, and he'd already beaten that by twenty years. Admittedly Chaos had helped, but still.

* * *

It was hard to get out of bed that morning. Not just to wake up, but to move. He had to cough and pound his chest a few times to get his heart started again. More and more he felt like an old machine badly in need of servicing, except there were no spare parts to be had. Indeed it almost felt as if something were rattling around inside him. Perhaps one of the materia deposits in his body had broken loose. Sitting up made him light-headed and he nearly fell back again, just barely managing to catch himself. Leaning forward to duck his head between his knees, Vincent noticed a damp spot on his t-shirt. The black cotton was wet, but not with drool or sweat. The fingers of his right hand came away stained red. He must have nicked something with his claw again. Nothing to worry about.

The rattly feeling persisted. Veld might cough, but Vincent found his own chest tight for reasons he could not explain. Nothing hurt, the blood had stopped, yet something seemed off. It was probably nothing.

Nothing… Hell Masker echoed in his sing-song voice. Nothing nothing nothing… Empty head, empty heart, too soon will be torn apart.

Shut up, Vincent thought mildly. At this point he was done fighting with them. Like a belligerent child, if his taunting was ignored, odds were decent that Hell Masker would get bored and retreat into silence.

It was hard to keep his eyes open over dinner. He forgot to sip from his glass of red wine, could not respond when Veld tried to strike up a conversation. Mercifully, Veld understood that he got like this sometimes. It couldn't be helped, but it wouldn't last. He'd feel better if he gave his headmates free reign for a little while, but that would mean spending the night alone- or rather, the night without Veld.

* * *

Galian whimpered. He circled round and round in Vincent's mind, more and more agitated. Stop, Vincent wished him, but the only response was a long, drawn-out howl.

He'd have shooed him away, but he couldn't lift his arm. So tired….

"Vincenz?" Gigas rose, his bulky body a shadow looming over Vincent. The giant rarely spoke; in the last few years he'd settled in the back of Vincent's mind, content to slumber. So long as he didn't have to kill, he was happy. "Vincenz, something is wrong. Do you hear me?"

Vincent mumbled a reply, words fading into nonsense syllables. Why was everyone pestering him? All he needed now was…

"No, no, don't go!" Hellmasker lunged forward, elbowing the others out of his way. "Noooo! Get up, Valentine!"

Can't get up. Hurts.

"We can't go, we can't leave Bronze!"

Stop, Vincent hissed, just...stop.

Hellmasker curled up, sobbing. "I want to be...I want to be."

I'm sorry. I can't. I'm sorry.

Veld. I'm sorry.

I love you.

* * *

Vincent had slept in his own room last night. He'd given no reason, had not seemed to be ill or distressed. Sometimes he just needed space, and Veld had known him long enough not to take it personally. He'd slept alone, dismissing the empty space next to him as no more than a temporary discomfort to be suffered for one night.

He didn't worry too much when Vincent didn't come down to breakfast. Vincent often slept in a bit on weekends, especially if the creatures in his head had kept him up the previous evening. Somewhere around lunch time, however, Veld began to worry. Thirty years as a Turk had taught him to trust his gut, his instincts, and somewhere deep inside him, an alarm was going off.

Veld knocked softly on the bedroom door before testing the knob. It was unlocked, so he pushed the door open.

"Vincent?"

Vincent hadn't bothered to undress before lying down, nor had he gotten under the covers. Instead, the same trousers he'd had on the night before were visible below the ragged hem of his old red cloak. He'd curled up in the garment instead of tucking himself in, falling asleep on the still-made bed. With a sigh, Veld shook his head. Vincent lay with his back to the door. Crossing the floor, Veld called his name.

"Vincent?"

No answer. It could sometimes take Vincent a minute to surface from the deep stasis of sleep.

"Vincent?" he asked again, carefully reaching and touching his shoulder. Normally Vincent would have started awake, only barely reigning in the old fight reflex when he saw who had waked him. This time, however, Vincent did not stir. Even beneath the rough wool of the cloak he seemed cold, his limbs stiff and heavy in a way they usually weren't.

"Vince?" Veld shook him with both hands, a growing sense of alarm fluttering unpleasantly in his stomach. "Vincent?!"

Nothing. Vincent didn't even roll as he shook him, his whole body seemingly frozen in place. Circling around to the other side of the bed, Veld brushed Vincent's bangs out of his face with one hand. It had always been hard to tell if Vincent was sleeping or- as Veld himself put it- playing dead. His features would relax into neutrality as anyone's would, but they also took on a frozen quality. Looking at his partner's face, his insides went cold. Vincent wasn't playing.

This was the first time in many years Vincent had ever looked his age. There was no gray in his hair, no wrinkles or age spots, but the exhaustion written in every line made him seem ancient. Hollow-cheeked and sunken-eyed, there was a grayish cast to his complexion that hadn't been there before. Eyes that had burned red as live coals had faded to a dark, dusty brown beneath half-closed lids. There was no light in them, however. Sightless, dull and cloudy, they stared at nothing, as if Vincent had been years dead and not hours. And then Veld noticed the blood.

Drawing the cloak back, Veld swallowed hard as his stomach lurched while his heart sank. The dark stain spread in a wide puddle, previously hidden by the cloak. Vincent's Oxford shirt lay partially open, enough buttons undone to show the hole in his chest. The Chaos materia lay loosely clutched in Vincent's left hand, the talons of his claw making it look like a jewel in a gold setting. The open wound still seeped blood into his clothing, into the sheets. Although Vincent rarely had much of a pulse, Veld put two fingers below his jaw anyway. Nothing. He had not expected anything different.

Sinking down onto the stained mattress, Veld contemplated Vincent's body for a long moment, not knowing what to think or feel. The hole in his chest was neat and even, no signs of trauma, as if the stone had not been plucked, but had simply fallen out. He thought about prising it from Vincent's cold fingers, thought about shoving it back into the wound. He thought about crying, screaming, sobbing over Vincent's corpse. Instead, after a minute, he stiffly got up and went into his own bedroom. He returned a few minutes later, PHS in one hand, gun in the other. Sitting down again, he dialed.

"Tseng?"

"Sir," Tseng answered.

"Vincent died," Veld said without preamble, "for real, this time."

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line. "...I'm so sorry, sir."

"Send a bus, would you? But...give me a minute."

"Of course, Sir."

Snapping the phone closed, Veld set it on the bedside table. Gun in one hand, he rested the other on Vincent's leg, just looking at what was left of him. His last link to the past was gone, truly gone. He thought he understood a little bit now, how Vincent had felt ever since waking up. His dear spook, his darling mess had gotten his wish at last. Swallowing back his tears, Veld lay down and gathered him in his arms.

"Never thought you'd go first," he murmured, gently closing the sightless eyes, "but you didn't want to be alone, did you. Guess I can't blame you."

Lifting the gun, Veld thumbed the safety off.

"I dunno if either of us will make it to the Lifestream, but if there's a bar in hell, I'll see you there."


	2. RIP

Tseng entered the house first, using the key Veld had given him in case of emergency.

It wasn't an emergency, some distant part of him knew, but he would face that when he had to and not a moment before. He knocked first. It was a formality.

No one answered the door. A tiny drop of hope he hadn't even known he possessed dried up and blew away.

Profound silence greeted him. No - more than silence. _Emptiness_.

He found them in the back bedroom, Vincent clasped loosely in Veld's arms. Veld had been careful; he'd known just where to position the gun to accomplish his last task while creating as little mess as possible. Despite the damage, Veld's face was serene.

Tseng let out a slow breath. His throat spasmed, briefly, but he got it under control. Steps in the hall behind him heralded Reno, who stopped at Tseng's back.

" _Damn."_ Reno slid a sideways glance at Tseng. "You okay, boss?"

"Fine." It was true, as far as it went. He still had work to do. "Rude's with the van?"

"Yeah."

"Bring in the gurneys through the back door. Make it quick and quiet."

"You got it." Reno hesitated and, still looking at the bed, said, "You ain't gonna make it a threesome while I'm gone, right?"

Tseng shook his head. "He wouldn't want that. No."

"Okay, then. Be right back."

He left, and Tseng approached the bed. For a long moment, he just looked at them, at the way his mentor had chosen to go out, and the man he'd followed into the dark.

How...diminished Vincent seemed. Youth and beauty faded to gray, all the long years finally coming to an end.

"You never wanted any of this, did you?" The three words that kept echoing through Tseng's mind were _old, tired,_ and _sad._

"I envied you, Valentine," he said. "It was petty and childish of me, and I regret it."

"And you, my friend and commander…" He put a hand on Veld's shoulder, near the juncture of flesh and prosthetic. There was little difference between them now, both cold and unyielding, Veld's bones fragile beneath thinning skin.

"After everything you lived through, the only one of your enemies that you couldn't defeat was time."

He took the gun from Veld's hand with a hushed apology for the liberty, and set it aside. Unfastening the buckles on the front of Vincent's cloak, he carefully pulled it out from under his body, and spread the red fabric across both men.

Bowing his head, he began to chant a sutra.

Once the bodies had been safely stowed in the van, Tseng did a quick search for anything too valuable or too sensitive to be left in case of a break-in. Veld's gun, wrapped in plastic, went into Tseng's own pocket. Rude brought a lockbox from the van, and into this went Veld and Vincent's WRO ID badges, Veld's wallet - Vincent didn't seem to own one - and a folder of personal papers from a small safe in Veld's bedroom. The last thing into the box was the materia that had fallen from Vincent's body.

Rude took the lockbox back to the van. Tseng himself carried the custom-made case that held Cerberus and Vincent's other guns, holsters slung over his shoulder. He locked the doors with a feeling of finality that burned at the back of his eyes all the way to headquarters.

The Turks had always handled their own dead, preparing them for burial or cremation as befit the deceased's wishes. Tseng saw to it that Vincent and Veld were accorded all the dignity and respect they were due. Then he went home and got quietly, spectacularly drunk.

* * *

The wake was a nine-day wonder. The chapel at WRO headquarters had seating for two-hundred-fifty people. Every seat was filled, and people stood in the hall as well. Vincent's friends occupied the front row. From there to the back of the room were Turks, and the staff, field agents, and troops from the WRO.

Ice-white lilies and chrysanthemums filled the room. Clouds of peppery incense drifted continuously from the altar in front of the two coffins, laid side by side. How ironic, Tseng thought, that Vincent once again occupied such a bed. This time, there would be no rising from it.

Among Veld's personal effects, Tseng had found a notebook in Veld's handwriting, its pages filled with recipes. For the vigil, Tifa and Rufus Shinra's personal cooks had produced every dish in the book. The Turks provided the alcohol. No one was going home sober if they could help it.

Tseng moved through the entire thing, from ritual to vigil to burning, in a daze. He noted the gifts piled high for the River Crossing: heaps of gourmet candy, stacks of coins, the special high-caliber bullets that Vincent had used, packs of Veld's favorite cigarettes, bottles of expensive whisky and red wine. He chanted sutras with the priest, lit incense with a steady hand.

He ate at the vigil, though somehow it all tasted exactly alike. He raised glass after glass of whiskey in Veld's honor, and then red wine in Vincent's, and no matter how much booze he downed, it never touched him. He traded stories with the Turks, conversed with Cloud and Tifa and Cid and Barret, every word bouncing off of him like pebbles striking steel.

When it was his turn to speak, he stood, glass in hand, his mind utterly blank. What could he say that would even hint at the reality, that would do either man justice? Neither Veld nor Vincent had been angels; by some standards, perhaps not even particularly good men. If that mattered, then why was Tseng hollow all the way through, why was the world so much uglier, so much colder?

People waited for him to speak, some of them tipsy, some weeping quietly, a few smiling as though at some private joke. Turks sat beside him: Reno, subdued but bright-eyed, and Rude, stoic as always but straight-backed and steady; Elena and Cissnei, glasses trembling slightly in their hands, eyes locked on Tseng. And more, every Turk still living, backing him up. Veld's legacy, as much as the knowledge in his head and the skill in his hands, and the passion in his heart.

Maybe he'd had too much to drink; he could swear he distinctly felt a warm presence at his back, radiating approval, pride, and affection. Across the room, he thought he caught a glimpse of red eyes in shadow, above a slight, sardonic smile.

Tseng took a breath. "They lived, and for that we give thanks. Speak their names, and they'll live again." He raised his glass. "To Vincent Valentine and Veld Dragoon. May their legends never die."

That was good enough to go on with.

* * *

Both Vincent and Veld had named Tseng their executor. He took it as the honor it was meant to be. Veld's will had been filed decades ago, updated when necessary. He'd left most of his possessions to Vincent, originally. He'd always thought it nigh-impossible that Vincent would predecease him, but Veld was nothing if not thorough, so he'd allowed for it. There were lists of things and the people they were meant for, and he'd left money to pay for his funeral. Whatever remained was to be donated to the WRO and a few small charities he'd favored.

Vincent had surprised everyone by actually having a will. Tseng found it in the gun case, rolled up between two of the guns. Anything useful was to be donated to wherever it would do the most good, and the rest disposed of as the executor saw fit.

Disposition of their ashes fell to him as well, and he never doubted what to do. Vincent already had an urn, given to him some years ago when Veld arranged a wake to mark Vincent's death in Nibelheim. It had been sitting on the mantel over their fireplace ever since, a beautiful thing with a gunmetal-gray raku finish, painted with white camellias. In the language of flowers, it meant "Waiting." Now the waiting was done.

Tseng had both men's ashes placed in the urn, and the urn itself interred at Veld's family's gravesite. The Valentines had no crypt in the area; Vincent's father had left nothing to bury. Tseng hoped that Veld's wife would not mind sharing space with Vincent as well as Veld; interring them separately simply would not do.

Tseng paid off the last month's rent on their house and informed the landlord, the most annoying, whiney little man he'd ever met, that they wouldn't need it any longer. Turks came to empty and clean the house. All that was left to mark the presence of Valentine and Dragoon was a triple bullet-hole near the door. Every one of the Turks touched fingers to the holes in tribute on their way out.

Vincent's sabatons and gauntlet, as well as his guns, were preserved in a place of honor within WRO headquarters, locked in a glass case. Tseng kept Veld's gun in working order, although he never used it. Veld's prosthetic, removed before cremation, was given to the WRO's most talented biomedical engineer for study, in hopes that the design could be improved upon. Veld would have liked that.

Their names were spoken often, celebrated with laughter and tears, with drink and with stories that grew more outrageous with each telling.

On clear nights when Tseng could see the stars, he imagined the banners of the Lifestream drifting overhead, and wondered where their souls had gone.

He had no doubt they were together, and gods knew... the Lifestream would never be the same.


	3. One Last Duty

Tseng paused for breath at the crest of a hill. Daylight was waning, but he was almost there. His destination lay tucked between the green hills, and he had only to descend the one he stood on to be on its threshold.

The shock of Veld's death, of losing his mentor, had frozen his mind for a while, but once he knew what he needed to do, he set out to get it done as quickly as possible. He told his Turks that he was taking a few days off, requisitioned a small plane, and headed to the western continent.

Tseng pushed his way between stands of tough, prickly-branched bushes. He wasn't a botanist, he had no idea what kind of plants they were; they left bloody scratches on his hands, and a deeper one on his face when he didn't duck fast enough. If he was of a more fantastic turn of mind, he'd think the place was actively trying to keep him out.

The waning daylight only penetrated the first few feet of the cavern. He clicked on his flashlight, moving forward slowly, watching for signs of habitation. There weren't many four-legged predators in this area, but one never knew about the two-legged kind.

The space widened around him, and ahead could be seen a faint bluish glow. He hurried, wanting to be done with his task and gone.

The sight was more of a shock than he'd expected. Across the pool, enshrined like a goddess behind a multi-faceted veil, Lucrecia Crescent dreamed in the dark. Head bowed, hands crossed demurely over her chest, she might be asleep, might, for all he knew, be dead. He couldn't say he much cared either way.

He set down the flashlight and dug into the inside pocket of his jacket. Once cleaned of Vincent's blood, the crystal globe had gone cloudy and dull, with a fine web of cracks over all. Tseng came as close to the liquid mako as he dared, drew his arm back, and flung the orb into the pool, hitting it dead center. The soft 'plunk' echoed through the cave, ripples spreading out in a perfect circle around the point where it had gone in.

If he never saw that thing again he'd be perfectly happy. He turned his back on the late, lamented Lucrecia, turned the flashlight on, and made his way out of the cavern.

She dreamed that she was free….

Alone in the dark, her eyes snapped open, blinking to clear the fog of sleep.

Crystal shattered, shards falling in a glittering rain. She remembered how to breathe. She remembered Life. Perhaps it was time to wake.


	4. Mourning After

"Elena?"

She looked up to see an uncharacteristically worried expression on Reno's freckled face.

"Go with him? Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid."

"Sure," she agreed, getting up from her desk and shoving her chair in. She'd give Tseng a few minutes head start. None of them truly expected the Chief to do anything regrettable, but the last twenty-four hours had arguably just won the title of 'Worst Day Ever'. Tseng might not want a shoulder to cry on, but that didn't mean he didn't _need_ one.

Elena didn't tail him exactly. Yes, she kept him in sight, but she didn't follow his exact path back to his apartment. She made several detours along the way for take-out and a couple of extra bottles of alcohol. Also coffee. Tseng never drank coffee, but he was going to have a roaring hangover later, and green tea just wasn't quite the same.

There were sounds of life on the other side of his closed apartment door when she arrived; the television turned up just loud enough to function as background noise. Lightly, she knocked. It took a minute or two for Tseng to open the door. He wasn't deep into his own stash, but she could tell he'd already had at least one drink.

"You put in a lot of overtime today," Elena said, lifting the take-out bag by way of an explanation. "Thought you might be hungry."

"Not really," Tseng said, but took the bag from her anyway and stepped back, allowing her through the door. She set the bag with the liquor bottles on the little counter-bar-thing that separated the kitchen are from the living room. An open bottle of sake and a tumbler stood on the table in the dining corner.

"Drink?" he asked her, fetching another glass.

"Sure," Elena said, looking into cupboards until she found two bowls. Tseng had been born in Wutai, but raised in Midgar. Consequently, the low-budget, greasy slop that Midgar called Wutaian food was not an affront to Tseng's culinary and cultural sensibilities. If anything, it was his not-so-secret comfort food. Dumping noodles into a bowl, she set it and a pack of wrapped chopsticks down in front of him.

"I'm really not hungry," he repeated, taking a seat at the table.

"I am," Elena countered, sitting and slurping her own noodles. It was scandalously rude to eat in front of someone, but even more rude by Wutaian standards to refuse the food put in front of you. With a sigh, Tseng poked at his noodles for a moment before reluctantly putting a few into his mouth. He must have realized then how hungry he really was because he polished off the entire bowl in short order. Elena retrieved the takeout containers and set them on the table between them. Tseng poured a measure of sake into her glass, and glopped more food into his bowl.

She let him eat in silence, and kept her mouth shut as they washed and put away the dishes, even washing the takeout containers before tossing them in the recycle bin. Tseng was fastidious that way. There weren't any leftovers to put in the refrigerator, so Tseng wandered over to the sofa and sat down. Although he tried to pay attention to the anchorman dictating the day's news, she could tell none of it was percolating.

 _On this day in history, the world lost two of the best Turks to ever live,_ she thought sadly. _Veld Dragoon, former director of the Turks and his long-time partner Vincent Valentine were found dead in their home late this afternoon. There were no signs of foul play; both died of natural causes. Director Dragoon is preceded in death by his wife and daughter who perished in the Kalm fire. Agent Valentine is predeceased by his father, celebrated academic Dr. Grimoire Valentine. Both were instrumental in preventing Meteor Fall as well as the defeat of Sephiroth and the liberation of Deepground. A private service for friends and fellow Turks will be held on Saturday. They were both seventy-four._

That was all that was going through Tseng's mind right now. Cleaning up had taken a good twenty minutes or so. She'd give him a little longer to digest before breaking out the booze. Comfort food wasn't comforting if you vomited it up later. He hadn't bothered to change out of his suit, though he'd removed his jacket and tie. Aside from his workout clothes, and a handful of undercover missions, Elena had never seen him in anything else. She wasn't sure Tseng even owned any street clothes. Shrugging out of her own jacket, she sat down leaving a respectful distance between them.

"I'm the Chief now," he said rather blankly.

"You've been the Chief for twenty years," Elena reminded him.

Tseng shook his head. "Veld was still alive. I might have been running things but...he was still the Chief. My Chief. He once told me that he'd never really felt like he was Chief in his own right until Tally died. Now I know what he meant."

Reaching, she rubbed his shoulder with one hand.

"He was always there," Tseng went on softly. "Protecting him meant he was protecting me. So long as he was alive, I'd always have someone to fall back on, somewhere to go for help, for answers. Even if you only count his years of active duty service, he still had the longest tenure of any Chief."

"Bet you'll top that."

Very briefly, he cracked a smile. "I dunno…"

"I hope you do."

He turned his head to look at her then. Maybe she was imagining it, maybe it was the booze, but she thought his cheeks looked a little pink.

"...thanks."

She pretended to watch TV with him; Tseng flipping from one station to the next without spending much time on any single one. Eventually he settled on one of the all day news stations, the professional droning of the reporters creating a barrier of white noise between himself and the chaos inside his own head.

Elena opened the bottle and poured them each a few fingers.

"The king is dead," Tseng said, clinking his glass against hers.

"Long live the king," Elena replied, clinking in turn.

Tseng downed his glass in one go, but Elena sipped hers more slowly, and didn't stop him whenever he reached to refill his own. He knew as much as she did why she was here: not just to keep him from eating his gun, but to help him mourn. He was fully, formally the Chief now, but even the Chief needed a little help now and again. Turks stuck together, and she'd stick by him until this first horrible night without his mentor was over.

Halfway through the bottle saw him leaning up against her. By the time it was empty, he'd slung an arm around her. The second bottle saw her pulled onto his lap, kissing and being kissed. He'd asked her out to dinner what felt like ages ago, but then there'd been Sephiroth, and Meteor, the Remnants, Deepground, and hundred other things that had just been more important. They were more than friends, had been for years. The entire office referred to them as "a thing"- whatever that meant. However, it seemed they were never going to get a break. Tseng was drunk, so this didn't really count, but she certainly wasn't going to argue.

Despite the heavy smell of alcohol on his breath, Tseng's eyes were still clear, if bright and red from tears. He was blitzed, but not so completely plastered that he couldn't think straight. Resting his forehead against hers, he let out a deep sigh.

"Would you go out with me?" he mumbled.

Elena blinked. "Huh?"

"Would you go out with me?" Tseng repeated, words loose but not slurred. "I asked you forever ago. We were going to go out to dinner and...we never did."

"I brought dinner to you," she told him, smiling and reaching to gently smooth his hair back with one hand.

"There is that," he said. "When I am less of a drunken, sobbing mess, I'll take you out to that expensive place Rufus likes. A real date, just like normal people."

Elena smiled, amused, wishing she could believe him. She didn't doubt his intentions, but did have deep reservations (ha ha) as to whether or not this would actually happen.

"A real date," she agreed.

He fell to kissing her again, and Elena had to actively remind herself that she was here for moral support not...that. Ordinarily Tseng was very reserved, the embodiment of the perfect gentleman, but he was drunk. She couldn't let it go that far, it wouldn't be right. As much as she wanted him, she wanted him to want her, and not because he was drunk and grieving. She shouldn't have worried. One minute he'd been nuzzling her throat, the next he was out cold, his head resting heavily on her shoulder. Elena allowed herself a sigh, and stretched her neck to kiss his forehead.

"Just like normal people…"

* * *

She couldn't feel her arm when Tseng finally woke up and crawled off her and into the bathroom. Trying to work some feeling back into her limbs, she got started on the coffee. She didn't hear any sounds of retching, which was good, but he was still likely to have a raging hangover. By the time Tseng emerged from the bathroom red-eyed and groggy, the blinds were closed and a mug of black coffee and a tall glass of water were waiting on the table. Tseng took a grateful sip from the coffee first, making a face at the bitter taste before making himself drink about half the glass of water.

"Better?" she asked, laying a hand on his shoulder. Looking up at her, he offered her something close to a smile.

"Thanks."

* * *

There were flowers at her desk the next day. Elena smiled, touched, and commandeered the old thermos carafe that no one ever used in which to arrange them. Cissnei teased her about a secret admirer but Elena just smiled. There was still the funeral to get through. This was probably the last personal token she'd ever receive from him. She took a picture with her phone and saved it.

If she were honest, Elena didn't remember terribly much of the joint funeral. The only thing that really stood out in her memory was Tseng, struggling to make a speech, tears cascading down his face unnoticed. She had wanted to reach out and take his hand, to get up and hug him close, but she couldn't. Not there, not then. It had been a beautiful ceremony, the surviving Chief the most beautiful thing of all.

The text on her phone two weeks later made her blink:

' _La Tableaux - 7pm_

 _Wear the blue dress?_ '

It was from Tseng. Looking over, she stared at him in undisguised disbelief. Tseng just smiled and turned his attention back to the mountain of paperwork on his desk. Trying- and failing- not to blush, Elena sat down and tried to concentrate on her own case backlog.

* * *

The blue dress was something she hadn't worn in a while. Eyeing it, Elena hoped she could get into it. She'd bought it ages ago with no real intent behind the purchase except it had been time for a new dress. Zipping it up the back was a bit tricky, and proved the dress to be a little snug, but doable. Funny Tseng had requested it. Although it was a nice dress, and she'd paid good money for it at the time, it certainly wasn't the flashiest thing she owned. However, it looked nice on her, and was comfortable, which was why she'd hung onto it.

She met Tseng at the restaurant a few minutes before seven. It was strange to see him in a suit that wasn't blue, his long hair pulled back in a low que.

"You look beautiful," he told her softly, and Elena had to look away, her face suddenly very warm. He offered her his arm, and she took it. The Maitre'd led them to a table near the far wall, set back a bit from the other diners. The entire rear wall was floor to ceiling windows. From their seat they could look down on Edge and New Midgar, the electric lights of the city providing a technicolored compliment to the white light of the stars above.

"Pretty fancy for a first date," Elena commented as the waiter poured them each a glass of wine.

"The first, but not the last," Tseng promised, clinking glasses. "Consider this compensation for all the times we never went out."

"You don't have to apologize to me," she told him, smiling. "It's the job. I was right there next to you the whole time. I know how it goes."

"Yes you were," he said fondly. "Things are different now. It's not like I've got Old Man Shinra breathing down my neck. Rufus isn't going to arbitrarily organize a hit on me or my people. I know being a Turk is a commitment, but it shouldn't be one's entire life. Even the Chief made time for a family."

Elena nodded. The Chief- and that would always be Veld's title, despite Tseng being director for the last twenty years- had had a wife and child before things had gone to hell. That had been the beginning of Shinra's darkest time, the years when people had become afraid of Turks, and then disdainful. There were relationships a plenty in the office, but none of them serious- not white picket fence and 2.5 children serious, anyway. It was one of the reasons everyone thought they were a morally reprehensible bunch. Yes, they sometimes slept with each other, but it wasn't like _that_. Often, the only family Turks had was other Turks. These were the people who loved you and kept you safe. They understood the Job, the Life, the way no one else could. Considering the dangers of the Turk life, who else could any of them ever hope to get close to?

"Things were different then," she said with a shrug.

"I know, and it shouldn't be like that," Tseng went on. "We've let ourselves get too insular. I don't want to destroy our little sub-culture, but I'd like to see us all relax a bit- and I know that sounds funny coming from me."

Behind her hand, Elena giggled. "Hey, I'm not arguing. I've been trying to get you to relax for years."

Tseng looked amused. "True. I'll have to start taking your advice more seriously."

Their food arrived then, and for a moment they ate in companionable silence. It was delicious, but Elena couldn't help wondering what it cost. She didn't trust any place that didn't put prices on their menus. Tseng could afford it, certainly, but there was still that part of her that remembered growing up poor under the Plate in Old Midgar. There was a point at which something ceased to be a treat and simply became a ripoff.

"You remember the first time we had a meal together?" Tseng asked.

"Is this some kind of quiz?" she teased. "It was the stake-out. We had pizza. You gave me your pepperonis. Said you didn't like them."

Tseng smiled. "I'm surprised you remember that."

"I have a long memory. There were a lot of long nights, a lot of take-out. They might not have been dates, but it was still time together."

"Time well-spent," Tseng agreed. "Almost twenty years on the job together."

"Almost," Elena agreed. "It doesn't feel that long, does it?"

Tseng put down knife and fork and just looked at her for a while, his eyes wandering over her face with an almost longing look. "It didn't until recently," he said quietly. "After the funeral… It made me realize how long it's really been, how much time had passed. I hadn't realized how much of my life I'd given to the job, and that if I was going to do anything else, I'd better hurry up and do it."

Elena nodded. "I know how you feel. Every group of new cadets makes me feel positively ancient, and yet I keep waiting for someone to discover that I'm not _really_ an adult, I've just been pretending all this time."

That made him laugh, and Elena smiled. Reaching across the table, he took her hand in his and held it.

"I want to thank you Elena, for being there. Not just for that first night alone, but for all the times you stuck by me. And not just because it was your job."

"Yeah, well, someone had to look out for you," she said, half modest, half teasing. "Besides, I had a crush on you for a long time."

"...and you don't now?" he asked. Something in his voice struck her heart; a note of vulnerability, of uncertainty that she wasn't used to hearing from him.

"It stopped being a crush a long time ago," she said softly, squeezing his hand, and had the slightly surreal experience of watching Tseng blush.

"Me too," he said lowly. "At first...I didn't want to seem like I was twisting your arm; asking you to do something you weren't comfortable with. But that's beside the point now. I don't think of you as a subordinate; haven't for a while."

"Tseng…" Elena murmured, lowering her gaze even as she felt her face grow warm.

"I really like you, Elena," he went on. "I hope you are still as fond of me as I have become of you?"

Elena smiled, and took his hand in both of hers. "Like I said," she repeated, "it stopped being a crush a long time ago."

* * *

Neither of them owned a car. One, it was expensive, and two, what need did they have for one? Public transit was the preferred method of getting from Point A to Point B. However, it was a beautiful evening, so they walked hand-in-hand back to Elena's apartment. It was one of the few buildings to have survived Meteor Fall; a venerable brick building with a storefront below and three more storeys stacked on top. Elena led him up to the second floor, and into her small apartment.

"It's cute," Tseng remarked upon stepping inside. The room was a far cry from Tseng's rather Spartan one-bedroom. Tseng's apartment resembled nothing so much as a hotel room- the furniture neutral and unremarkable, and almost no personal touches anywhere except the bedroom. If she hadn't known better, she might have thought that it was the display model and that no one lived there. Elena's by contrast was cheerful and cozy.

Her collection of furniture could best be described as eclectic, with throws and pillows placed just so on the sofa and chairs. A colorful braided rug softened the honey-colored wooden floors. Pictures hung on the walls, curtains draped the windows, and a vase of flowers stood on the table. The whole effect was slightly cluttered, but extremely cozy and inviting.

"I wasn't really expecting company," Elena apologized, sweeping a pile of mail off the table and into a basket. In the act of spiriting an empty mug into the sink, she stopped short as Tseng caught her wrist.

"It's fine," he assured her, drawing her close. "It can wait."

He leaned forward, and Elena had to remind herself to breathe as his arms went around her and their lips met. This had been her dream for years, something she'd imagined countless times but had never truly thought would happen. She stretched to meet him, standing on her toes and twining her arms around his neck. Tseng stooped a bit more, the better to drag his lips along the side of her throat, to kiss the spot just behind her ear. There was still space between them and she closed it gladly, his hand on the small of her back all the encouragement she needed.

"I want you," Tseng breathed into her ear. "Do you want me?"

"Since I was twenty-three," she replied, and pulled him into the bedroom.

* * *

Tseng was always the first to the office. His arrival signaled to those working the graveyard shift that it was time to go home and get some well-earned sleep. The rest of the day shift followed in increments depending on how they were assigned. Elena also worked the opening shift, but didn't arrive until at least an hour later. The Chief had seemed in especially good spirits, particularly considering the emotional hell that had been last month. Instead of his usual Turk poker face, a mysterious little Mona Lisa smile kept tugging at the corners of his mouth. The funny part was he didn't even seem to notice.

"What's up with the boss?" Reno hissed across his desk to Rude. Rude, who hadn't seemed to have noticed, though Reno knew full well that he had, glanced over at the Chief and shrugged.

"Hell if I know."

Reno narrowed his eyes but said nothing, keeping his suspicions to himself. A few minutes later, Elena sat down at her desk, coffee in hand; a similar smile on her own face.

"What's got you in such a good mood?" Cissnei asked, taking her own seat across from Elena.

"It's pumpkin spice season at the coffee shop again!" Elena said, grinning. The younger Turk smiled, amused, but maintained an air of skepticism. Although Elena loved her pumpkin coffee- for reasons Reno would never understand- he didn't think that was it. Elena waited until Cissnei had lifted her own take-out coffee from the cardboard tray before taking the remaining cup- the string and tag of a tea bag dangling beneath the lid- over to Tseng's desk. Reno watched her with narrowed eyes. There wasn't anything unusual about her bringing the boss tea. However, something was definitely up.

"Thank you," Tseng told her, a note of pleased surprise in his voice. Elena just smiled and leaned forward, briefly kissing his cheek before returning to her desk. Reno felt his lips part and his jaw drop as she walked away and took her seat.

"Oh. My. _Gods._ "

Rude looked up from his paperwork and smirked. "Pay up."

Grumbling, Reno dug out his wallet.


	5. Chaos Redux

Chaos was immortal. If there was one quality unique to such beings, it was patience, and Chaos needed abundant patience in dealing with humans. He - Chaos really had no gender, but had gotten used to this designation - also had an ego nearly the size of the planet itself.

To think he'd been outsmarted by a human, a mere fragile short-lived mortal, was intolerable. It was also indisputable and irrevocable.

The human Vincent Valentine had slipped free of his body while Chaos's back was turned. The ridiculous headmates had flown away into the dark as well, dying along with Valentine, and good riddance! But now he was in a bit of a difficulty.

The woman Lucrecia had been more right than she knew when she deduced Chaos's role in the eventual demise of the planet. Chaos needed a host in order to fulfill his destiny, and Lucrecia had provided him one - for other reasons entirely, but the fact remained, she had done it, and Valentine had been an adequate host. Stubborn, overly emotional and given to fits of childish rebellion, yes; but adequate all the same. And now he was gone.

Chaos had woken too late to stop the degradation of Valentine's body, or the dissipation of his spirit. Without the protomateria in his body, Valentine could not not have prevented Chaos from taking control. Not to destroy the planet, not yet; but no immortal being should be caged by mere flesh and bone, his power dimmed and held in reserve like a spare weapon.

And yet it seemed as though he was in some way bound to the materia. He was aware that the crystal had been taken by someone not Valentine, carried away. He sensed cool darkness, a soft glow, and then...a splash? And the retreating heat of a human body.

And then nothing.

He'd almost fallen back into sleep when he sensed movement. The touch of a hand. Heat and light. The sound of a voice, cracking as though it hadn't been used in a long time.

"I remember this…. _I remember."_

 _The crystal orb glowed in her hand, white as the full moon, bathing her face in light. So beautiful...The urge to hold it close, always, was overwhelming. She cradled it to her breast, where it grew warmer, warmer, tingling, prickling, ah! Euphoria rushed through her, as sweet and delicious as love's release. Her hands, empty, fell to her side. A voice came to her, rising from the depths of her heart._

" _Daughter, we shall do well together."_


	6. Going Home

div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;" /div  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"Vincent woke. What time was it? Oh gods, he was going to be late, the chief would skin him alive./span/p  
div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;" /div  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"He sat up, rubbing his eyes. How much had he drunk last night? He didn't feel hungover, though. No headache, no stomach cramps. He stretched, luxuriating in the flex and pull of muscle. Damn, he felt great. /span/p  
div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;" /div  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"But...where was he? This wasn't his room. It wasn't even his apartment. He appeared to have fallen asleep in a field. Tall grass, dotted with pale flowers, waved in a light breeze. The air smelled fresh and clean, like the first real day of spring. /span/p  
div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;" /div  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"He spun slowly on one heel, searching for anything familiar. There wasn't a building in sight, just gentle, rolling meadows as far as he could see. He scratched his head, wondering idly why his hair felt wrong...too short? And his hand...he examined his left hand. It looked the same as it always had, nothing wrong with it…../spanspan style="font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"Nothing wrong with it, /spanspan style="font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"why was that so important?/span/p  
div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;" /div  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;""That you, Valentine?" The voice came from behind. Vincent turned. /span/p  
div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;" /div  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;""Veld?" Gods, yes, it /spanspan style="font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"was /spanspan style="font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"Veld, his amber eyes full of the sun. Slim and straight, grinning, he threw his arms around Vincent. /span/p  
div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;" /div  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"Vincent accepted the embrace, returned it, holding tight to his best friend, partner, lover. Tears sprang to his eyes, but why? Hadn't they just seen each other a day ago? He pulled back, taking Veld's left hand in his own. The solid warmth of his hand was familiar, and yet…/span/p  
div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;" /div  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"Memory flooded back, washing over him, through him, and he gasped, letting it come, letting it fill his head and his heart until he could hold no more. Veld held onto him until the torrent had washed him clean. /span/p  
div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;" /div  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;""Oh gods," Vincent said. "That really happened, didn't it? All of it. Lucrecia, Hojo, Sephiroth, Chaos. And...I died. Twice."/span/p  
div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;" /div  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;""Suck it up, Valentine," said Veld, with no rancor. "It's over. We made it through."/span/p  
div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;" /div  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;""We're really dead? This is...the afterlife?"/span/p  
div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;" /div  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;""Have I ever lied to you?"/span/p  
div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;" /div  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;""Never." /span/p  
div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;" /div  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"How strange to be dead. He didn't feel dead. He felt...young, and capable, full of energy. Veld looked the way Vincent felt, and that was a gift, like the gift of being once more in his arms. His mouth kept wanting to smile, and it was hard to fight it. It occurred to him he didn't need to fight anymore, ever again, and that was the strangest thing of all. /span/p  
div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;" /div  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;""There you are!"/span/p  
div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;" /div  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;" Veld and Vincent both looked up. A woman came strolling toward them, a cool blond with sharp, snapping eyes. "About time you got here!"/span/p  
div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;" /div  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"Veld gaped. "Tally?"/span/p  
div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;" /div  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"She came up beside them and tossed an arm over first Veld's, then Vincent's shoulders. "Been waiting forever for your two reprobates. Come on, boys. Got a little job for you…"/span/p  
div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;" /div  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"They set off, walking together. There was no hurry. Wherever they ended up, they'd get there in time. With Veld beside him, Vincent could do anything. Or nothing./span/p  
div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;" /div  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;" Either way, wouldn't it be something?/span/p 


	7. Revive

The voice inside her head was deep and gravely, alien and yet vaguely familiar. It had been so long since anyone had spoken to her. There should be a face to go with the voice; a name. Try as she might, ghosts of memory slipped through her grasp like smoke. Hadn't she known this voice? Didn't she know the person it belonged to?

A face formed in her mind: long and fair with dark eyes and black hair.

 _Vincent?_

The face smiled. _Hello, my love._

Love? She tried to recall if he had ever said such a thing to her before, but her memory was hazy. She was reasonably sure _someone_ had… But had it been Vincent?

'Do you doubt me?' Vincent asked, reaching and taking her hand. His fingers were long and delicate for a man, yet deceptively strong. He could have broken her arm if he chose to, but he didn't. He would never hurt her. She remembered that. Instead he pulled her close, into a gentle embrace. It had been so long, she fell into his arms willingly.

 _I have missed you,_ Vincent murmured into her hair.

Lucrecia could not reply, tears blocking her words even as they cascaded down her cheeks and into the fabric of his jacket. Unable to respond in words, she buried her face in his shoulder and hugged him tight.

 _Shh,_ he soothed, petting her hair. _Do not be grieved. We are together now. Nothing ever need separate us again._

 _I'm sorry,_ she managed at last. _I'm so sorry, it was an accident, I never… never…_ She hiccoughed, gasping for breath, for words, but none came.

 _Do not distress yourself,_ Vincent told her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her onto his lap. _You are not to blame. Hush, now._

She did her best to comply, gladly leaning her head on his shoulder and snuggling close.

 _Did you miss me, my love?_ he asked, sounding amused.

 _I did._

 _Would you like me to stay?_

 _Please_.

 _I will never leave your side. Is that what you wish?_

 _Yes_.

She could feel his smile as he leaned his cheek against her hair. _Always?_

 _Always_.

 _Then by your side I shall stay._

* * *

Lucrecia did not remember waking, did not remember much of anything, really. All she knew was that for a long, long time there had been nothing but darkness; her guilt and her loneliness a constant, endless state of existence. She had drifted cold and frozen in emptiness and now…

She sat in a shallow pool of cool water. She thought it was water. Maybe it wasn't. It felt a bit too thick, too slippery. How strange. It was only then that she realized how thirsty she was. Scooping up a double handful, she sipped from her cupped hands. Well, she'd intended to sip. A moment later found her slurping the too-thick water as fast as she could gulp it down. It tasted flat and stagnant, but soothed her parched throat. She didn't like it, hated the flavor, but could not get enough. Already her stomach was so full it was beginning to cramp. Exhaustion forced her to stop, to brace her arms against the sandy bottom just to hold herself up.

She no longer felt thirsty, or even vaguely ill. Her stomach hurt, but the pain was fading, overridden by sound and image. It was as if the heavens had opened before her, filling her mind with the voices of thousands of people, each with their own story, own grain of wisdom to impart. She tried in vain to separate one voice from the others, to seek out a speaker the better to listen to them and them alone. Stiffly, clumsily, she hauled herself upright. For a moment she stood unsteadily on legs wasted too thin to support her weight for long. She stumbled forward into the darkness, seeking out one voice among countless others. After two steps her legs gave way and she collapsed to the hard stone floor, lost to the music of an infinity of words.

* * *

What had possessed the woman to drink raw, stagnant mako, Chaos was not entirely sure. There was a second presence within her, but it was subtle, so quiet he could barely discern it. Dismissing it for the moment, he turned his attention to the mortal's body. Without a will to pilot it, her mortal shell lay senseless and inert on the cavern floor. It was an opportunity not to be wasted.

Although all her limbs were intact, her physical form was weak and marred by damaged caused long ago. She did not possess enough muscle, enough strength on her own. Reaching deeper, Chaos felt wings erupt from her back, horns from her head. He passed a forked tongue over small, sharp teeth and stretched as if waking from a long nap. She was smaller, much smaller than Valentine, but she would do very well for the moment. It felt good to walk again, to stretch muscles and feel gravel as it crunched underfoot.

The sun was sinking behind the rim of the vast bowl of the lake, the sky dimming to twilight. All around him night creatures buzzed and hummed; sounds of high summer. The coming night was beautiful and clear. Now to see if the sky remembered him. Crouching low, Chaos spread his wings and leaped.

It was glorious to stretch his wings again, to feel the wind in his face, the tug of gravity against his own monstrous strength. Or what should have been his monstrous strength. The clouds were beckoning, the stars a dazzling map of light that begged to be explored. He climbed among them, wings pumping increasingly cold air as he rose higher and higher before diving in a kamikaze swoop toward the ground. He looped around clouds, chased the wind, and frightened a flock of birds. He flapped again, seeking to touch the moon, but his wings would propel him no higher. Rare were the moments when he had experienced pain or fatigue, now he felt both in double measure. It must be the mortal; her body protesting his control and exertion. She was not yet strong enough even for this.

 _Hungry…_ a voice whimpered at the back of his head. _Thirsty…_

It did not sound like the mortal, and only hours ago she had tried to drink the dark mako well dry. Surely she could not want more? Yet the alarm blare of pain vibrated throughout her small body. Pain meant something was wrong. Perhaps it would be wisest to land. The spires of the Nibel Mountains loomed nearby.

 _There,_ the voice agreed. _Food. Hungry._

 _Alright, alright,_ he thought irritably. He remembered the place well enough. Nibelheim had seen the initiation of more than one unholy union. However, if memory served- the mortal's and his own- there was mako high in the mountains. A reactor had been built there to house her precious specimen, the creature Jenova. It was not a place that held happy memories for any of them, but it was the nearest thing at hand. It would have to do.

There were men in white uniforms with rifles in their hands standing guard all around the reactor. Chaos had not expected this, and could not be bothered with pleasantries. The mortals' headache fueling his actions, he knocked aside the first two with a swipe of his claws. He barely noticed as their blood splashed across his legs, creating a trail of little red footprints as he climbed the stairs of the reactor. There were more humans in white inside, and they soon met the same fate. In the back of the human's head, the hungry voice laughed.

Once inside, he didn't bother with ropes or ladders, simply jumped lightly down from the catwalk and into the mako well far below. The reactor was oddly silent, none of the hoses sucking up the sea-green liquid; none of the wheels turning, every valve cold and silent. Almost at once a red rash erupted on the mortal's pale flesh, but she took no note. She had been entombed in dark mako, and light mako was frequently a shock to the system even to the living. It was warmer than dark mako, and carried more energy. Taking a half-step back, he let the hunger seize control of one arm and watched, bemused, as she ladled mako into her mouth.

It took a while, but at last she breathed a sigh of contentment and lay back on the narrow ledge that served as a walkway before plunging down into the depths of the planet's crust. The sea-green mako was barely an inch deep here, but warm and invigorating to a body that had been frozen for so long. Her hunger seemed satisfied for now, but Chaos wasn't sure how long that would last. Given how quickly the mortal's body had tired, it might be best to give her time to rest, and perhaps to feed a second time before leaving the reactor. He had no desire to stay here any longer than he had to. The prison of the Crisis was not his idea of a vacation spot.


End file.
